


flesh and a little spirit

by beanarie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Miranda Barlow Lives, Multi, jailbreak, magical!miranda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-04 17:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20474762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: Miranda and Flint get an unexpected partner in their mission to get Thomas back.





	flesh and a little spirit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roguefaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguefaerie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Pull of Three Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17782772) by [roguefaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguefaerie/pseuds/roguefaerie). 

> I loved the concept of Miranda sort of willing herself back to life through her connection to Flint. Because honestly why NOT. She can do anything! Also what if she got a little something extra for her troubles? And what if the jailbreak didn't completely go off without a hitch?
> 
> The title is from Marcus Aurelius.

The pirate has been groaning almost continuously for the better part of their journey. "I had a plan," he says, giving off the impression of an actor during a soliloquy. Thomas imagines himself on stage left obscured by shadow. "It was a good one."

The horse they currently share does not express an opinion. 

"I gather from the tone of your voice," Thomas says, "that this exceptional plan got fucked."

The pirate twists around and stares just long enough to make Thomas concerned about a building, explosive rage before he laughs. "It did at that, my Lord."

The silence that follows begins to grate after a while. Thomas cannot effectively measure time under these circumstances, but it starts feeling like a rock in the sole of his shoe after what could be ten minutes and then maybe double that when the feeling is more than he can abide. "Who hired you, sir?"

"Oh, would that I were earning coin for this."

"So you break disgraced noblemen out of prisons with utopian facades solely for the joy of the experience?"

"Consider this..." He searches for a beat, "a favor? I have been asked to assist in the procurement of your person by someone to whom I..."

"Yes?"

"Harbor a certain amount of respect." 

"This is all very illuminating, and I do appreciate the conversation preventing the trees from becoming too boring." Thomas fills his lungs. "Who the fuck asked you to free me?"

"Captain Flint."

"Ah, yes. Of course." This man is a pirate, so it stands to reason he works for a pirate captain. A sudden realization dawns. "I've no acquaintance with this person."

"His eyes were tender when he spoke of you. Perhaps an act of charity on your part back in England placed you in his good books. You used your status to save his family home, recommend him for a promotion?"

Thomas mumbles a negative reply. His acts of charity were well known, yet he can think of no recipient who would have gone on to terrorize the high seas as Captain Flint has, and a man such as that would not have cared for Thomas's proposal of pardons.

After a period of only the horse contributing to the conversation, the pirate shuffles forward and rubs the space above his iron leg. "Does the name Barlow mean anything to you?"

"No. Is that Flint's real name?"

"Possibly, but I doubt it. Mrs. Barlow is the name used by his companion. I was thinking your connection may be to her. She's a fascinating woman. Powerful in her own way."

"Wait." Thomas pulls at the pirate's sleeve. "She died, Barlow. They said Flint sacked Charlestown after she was killed trying to attack the governor."

"Hm," is all he gets in response.

"You speak of her as though she yet lives." His heart beats faster for no reason he can ascertain. There is something to this. "Please, what is her given name?"

"Miranda," the pirate says. "And she calls Flint James."

"James and Miranda," Thomas murmurs as the woods lose focus. Peter said they were lost at sea. Thomas had trusted that, trusted him.

Light filters in all around, sharply reminding them that it's still day. They've reached a clearing. "All these mysteries should be solved shortly," the pirate says. 

The wagon comes into view first, next the occupants, and finally their faces. 

The rest of the world ceases to exist and Thomas utterly fails to notice.

~_twenty minutes ago_

"Check again," James tells his man.

Miranda places a hand on his shoulder and shakes her head slightly. Thomas will not magically appear among the prisoners they freed if James has his crew ask one more time. She had been there, in her previous form. She had seen it. The plantation was his prison. His absence here makes no sense.

James grasps her fingers. "The way you felt tethered to us before. Is that tether still there?"

Closing her eyes, she gives it an experimental tug. Yes, definitely still there.

"Can you find him?" James pins her with his hopeful gaze. 

She's never done something like this while flesh and blood, yet she's confident she merely needs to try. As her fingers curl into loose fists, James turns her body, shielding her from view so the sparse handful of crew members they felt secure enough to bring along don't see anything that may change their allegiances. Thomas is the word formed by her lips, though no sound escapes. She follows it like a path through the darkness. 

And then she is back. "He's on a horse. They're not far."

A sailor nearby mutters under his breath, but doesn't act beyond a scowl. James is unmoved by everything except the confirmation that Thomas is well and will be with them soon.

"They?" James says, just as one of the men asks, "Where the fuck is Mr. Silver?"

~_several hours ago_

A man has collapsed at the gates. Servants bring him into the main house, his unconscious state preventing him from revealing who he is or what calamity had befallen him. Ogelthorpe wrings his hands, betraying nervous confusion. "Place him in the parlor, please. And have someone fetch Andrew." Andrew, who spends much of his time birthing cows and horses, is the closest thing they have to a healer. "Sorry, Thomas. Chess will have to wait."

"Yes, of course." Thomas waits to be encouraged to return to the fields, but instead Ogelthorpe just leaves. The sun is quite strong today and Thomas's back is not as straight as it once was. With no explicit orders, he decides to bide his time indoors until someone remembers where he is supposed to be.

No one is looking for him. The commotion caused by the injured man leaves the paid staff well and truly occupied. Thomas, he is unashamed to admit, naps. This could lead to the strong suggestion that he start earlier tomorrow morning to make up for the lack of productivity, but honestly right now he does not care.

He awakens naturally, which is a novelty, and with the off-putting smell of smoke in his nose. Outside a frantic Ogelthorpe shouts orders. The hair on the back of Thomas's neck stands on end. This is all very curious. And the perfect opportunity to browse Ogelthorpe's ledger. Thomas has been scrambling for leverage on the man since shortly after his arrival. There must be _something_ untoward in those books.

He finds only more curiosity. The injured man stands in the study, the remains of one lamp at his feet (one natural, one iron) as he dumps the oil from another all over the books. "Huh." The combination of wild and unkempt yet overly decorated clocking him as a pirate, he takes in Thomas's appearance, particularly the rough-hewn clothing marking him a prisoner. "Well, you're with me, longshanks."

Just after the pirate draws a pistol and shoots the bookcase, birthing a new source of growing flames, Thomas tells him his name.

"How absolutely serendipitous," the pirate says, and he winks.

~_several days ago_

Silver brings a large bottle of rum with him as though in apology for barging into Flint's cabin and interrupting his and Miranda's meeting. 

"So," he says. "You and the sea witch are planning to raze yet another city to the ground."

They glance at him mildly from the captain's desk. "Not the entire city, unless they give me cause," James says, the growl underpinning his words adding to a very intimidating picture that has no effect on the room's other two occupants. "I only wish to secure the release of one man, Thomas Hamilton, from a relatively small and self-contained prison farm." James eyes the rum as though a venomous snake might emerge from the mouth of the bottle. "What is it you want?"

"The last time you set a whole population aflame, I was in no condition to behold the spectacle. Do permit me a balcony seat."

Miranda looks away as James huffs in exasperation.

"Besides," Silver says. "Not a man on this crew will take a step toward either of you unless I ask him to."

Miranda has seen her reflection since her return. She knows her eyes used to be brown and not this amber shade that seems to glow ever so slightly when she's in shadow. She has changed, fundamentally. The men thought she was a witch before. Lately there have been whispers of "demon" as she passes. The Walrus is no longer safe--she is hopeful that after securing Thomas they will escape on land and never see it again--but that is a conversation for later.

"This is true," she admits ruefully. While she and James have the capacity to persuade the men, their time could be better spent. Life would go easier if they delegate this, so long as Silver is trustworthy. 

_I literally could not give less of a fuck if you plot to remove me from this accursed ship. Nothing matters but getting Thomas back._

Silver's expression does not so much as flicker. The lack of response to this declaration baffles her, and it isn't until much later she will realize James did not say this out loud.

James leaves the table and the two men size each other up. "I'll murder you painfully if you fuck this up," James says. "This is not the time for pursuing your own goals at the expense of mine. Believe me when I say I will hunt you down."

"I believe," Silver says, and they clasp hands. "Now then, have you considered a diversion? Something to drive the overseers near the main house and leave the prisoners in the fields."

~_now_

Thomas has scarcely dismounted and gotten his feet on the ground by the time Miranda has flown into his arms. It genuinely does feel like she flew; her transition from the wagon to his embrace was nothing more than a blur. She pulls back to regard him and laugh tearfully as she scrubs some dirt from his left cheek. And then she disengages, taking his hand, so he can see. 

_James._

James is a seven course banquet and Thomas has been subsisting on gruel for eleven years. He looks so beautiful it terrifies Thomas. They approach each other slowly, without words, and it seems as though the sun has changed positions in the sky by the time they break apart. 

Someone behind them coughs.

The moment it takes to turn is just enough to get himself under control. "Well met, sir." Thomas nods at the pirate. 

"Mr. Silver," James says with a nod of his own, "So now you're free to sail away in my ship."

Silver's mouth quirks into a strange smile.

Just behind Thomas's ear, Miranda lets out a soft gasp. "He doesn't want it," she says. Thomas glances at her. She looks for all the world like she's seeing through the man.

Oddly unaffected by her display, Silver squints at James. "What part of anything you've ever learned about me indicates that I would?"

James crosses his arms over his chest. "You insinuated yourself into a powerful role on my crew easily enough."

"True, but only a lunatic would volunteer to be solely responsible for that floating band of superstitious goat-fuckers."

_He doesn't want to do it without you._ It's her voice, but her lips haven't moved.

"Miranda, love?" Thomas stares. Her eyes have changed. How did he not notice before now? 

Powerful in her own way, Silver had called her. He clearly was not referring to her intelligence alone.

She kisses Thomas's cheek.

"What happens now then?" James is saying, and as Thomas wraps his arms around his wife, reassuring himself of the solid, warm weight of her, he cannot help but share the sentiment wholeheartedly.


End file.
